(7) Days
by Sarcasticles
Summary: They said it was impossible to negotiate with the Celestial Dragons. Otohime had a week to prove them wrong.
1. Prologue

Otohime unwrapped the last of her bandages, carefully inspecting the skin underneath. A faint line of pink, newly healed skin marked the outside of her bicep. The area was tender to touch, but the Queen of Fishman Island was not hampered by the wound. She doubted it would even scar.

Her frail body held numerous blemishes: A motley bruise from when her oldest son had grabbed her too hard in excitement, a bump on her right wrist from a compound fracture healed years ago, the Cesarean scar on her belly from her daughter's birth. Otohime's body was an amalgamation of aches and pains that went beyond what was expected for a woman on just past forty. And yet, somehow, the small pink line—the result of an errant gunshot—outweighed them all.

"Otohime, did you hear me? A ship has been prepared for the Celestial Dragon. The doctors say he is healed enough to return to the surface," her husband said nervously from the doorway of their bedroom. Her pensive silence worried him. Otohime's heart was more in-tune with Neptune's than anyone else in the world. They had endured so much together, both as husband and wife and rulers of their beloved homeland. She relied on his strength more than he realized, an anchor that kept her grounded in these turbulent seas.

Could she truly stand to leave him?

Did she have any other choice?

"When does he leave?" Otohime asked.

"Immediately. The guards report growing…discontent among the hospital staff. They worry about safety, both his and ours."

Otohime nodded thoughtfully. She had visited Saint Mysogard several times since he had graced the sea floor with his presence, and general consensus was that he was infinitely more likable unconscious. Even the most level-headed staff's patience grew thin after being bombarded by speciest slurs and the hateful rhetoric that prevailed amongst the high nobility.

"Very well, let us see him home," Otohime said.

"Otohime, I know you've tried speaking to him about the petition, but he's not the one you're looking for," Neptune said. "He tried to kill you after you saved his life. There's no bargaining with a man like that."

His voice creaked with desperate pleading, his worry unspoken but understood. Otohime swept across the bedroom and looked up at him. Creases of anxiety and worry framed clear blue eyes the color of a sky she had never seen. How many years had been since she had fallen in love with those eyes?

He leaned down as she reached up to touch his cheek, and before either of them knew exactly what was happening their lips crashed together in a passionate embrace.

After two decades of marriage and four children, Otohime thought she knew all of Neptune's kisses, but she was wrong. She felt his torment as he clung desperately to her. He loved her as few men loved. It sparked a fire in his soul and softened a heart hardened by a lifetime of war and hate. Neptune was a warrior who would protect her with all his strength, and as he kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before, he silently begged for her not to go where he could not follow.

Finally the need for air broke them apart. Otohime stared up at him, a little breathless. It was with tears in her eyes that she smiled at him and said, "I know."

* * *

Otohime had to hurry to reach the ship before Saint Mysogard set off. She heard him snarl threats at the armed guard Neptune had assigned to accompany him to the surface before the familiar glass bubble came into view. The effect was undercut by the swaths of pristine white bandages still wrapped around his head—quite unnecessarily, if Otohime understood the doctors correctly. Saint Mysogard's mane of light green hair was likewise in messy disarray, and it appeared that he had misfastened the demi cloak to his bulky white suit. Of course he had refused to be touched by members of the 'inferior species' any more than necessary, and a lifetime of being waited on hand and foot by slaves meant he had never learned to manage such matters himself.

"I won't forget this, you stinking fish! The nerve of you all…Livestock, turning against your rightful masters! I'll make you regret the day you crossed the Celestial Dragons."

The crowd bristled with barely-suppressed rage. Otohime was grateful for Neptune's foresight assigning only the most mild-mannered of his guard to escort Saint Mysogard to the surface. The Dragon neither knew nor cared about his brazen ingratitude as he tossed his head haughtily and ascended to the ship.

For a moment Otohime hesitated. Doubt was an emotion she wasn't used to feeling in herself, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. Never in her life had she felt such arrogance in another being, such delusions of grandeur and importance. She had always known that the Celestial Dragons called themselves gods, but it was one thing to know a thing and another to experience it for herself.

Otohime was accustomed to putting the needs of others before herself. What did her discomfort matter with the future of her country so uncertain? If she did not act now she might never get another chance.

She felt the four Voices of her children behind her, nearly as familiar as her husband. They were watching her every move, _learning_ from her example. Otohime had taught them there was no reason to fear humanity.

It was time to show them that truth.

"Wait! Please!" Otohime cried. "We still have so much to discuss. I will accompany you to the surface."

An uproar went through the crowd, but Neptune's voice was greatest of them all. "Wait, Otohime! I cannot allow such recklessness. If you truly wish to negotiate with the humans, _I_ will go instead!"

He meant every word. His love for her outweighed his hatred for the humans, and he would do anything to take her place. Otohime's heart broke, and she shook her head.

"It would be meaningless for you to go," Otohime said. "It would accomplish nothing if a powerful warrior went to the surface, but if a frail woman was able to return unharmed…That is the only way to prove the surface is safe for our people."

His fear was almost palpable, and Otohime smiled reassuringly.

"Have faith in the wife whom you chose…and in the humans."

There was nothing more to be said. Otohime turned her back on her family and country and boarded the ship. Their worry and anxiety and fear intermingled with her own, but Otohime tempered it with hope.

"I will be back," Otohime whispered to herself, "and I will not have gone in vain."


	2. First Contact

Saint Mysogard sequestered himself from the crew as soon as they boarded, barricading himself in what normally would be the captain's quarters. Otohime tried briefly to speak with him through the heavy doorway, but Celestial Dragon was set on sulking like a petulant child, and she was forced to give up as they launched out of the protective bubble of Fishman Island.

Instead she helped the crew in any way she could. Otohime was no sailor, but there were dozens of odd jobs that needed to be done even as they were pulled upward by a domesticated sea king. Of course the guards balked at her assistance, but they were helpless to say no against their sovereign.

Two rope burns and a vicious splinter later, the captain tactfully pulled Otohime aside and quietly suggested that it was best to let the professionals manage the boat, and if she truly wanted to help why not she use her ability to scan the water for threats.

This was something Otohime could do. The depths of the sea were dangerous even for the strongest of their race, and it was paramount that their bubble coating remain intact, for of course Saint Mysogard couldn't survive the ocean without it.

"He thinks himself a god, but he can't even breathe under water," she heard one of the crew mutter under his breath.

"The Celestial Dragons are as human as the rest of their race," Otohime said. "I intend to remind Saint Mysogard of that fact. Oh, and beware of the sea king one hundred meters starboard side."

The crew was silent after that, their unease sour against Otohime's Observation.

Between Otohime's talent and the crew's skill the journey went well. There were a handful of tense moments, the greatest of which when a turtle the size of a small island swam too close for comfort, but they were expertly navigated. No light pierced this deep, and even inside the resin bubble Otohime could feel the chill of the water. Her mind brushed against the ancient beats that roamed the seas. They were alien and unfathomable against her senses, well beyond her ability to communicate with.

Briefly Otohime's thoughts wandered to her daughter. A small part of her worried that Saint Mysogard saw Shirioshi call the sea kings. It was an irrational but annoyingly persistent fear. She reminded herself again and again that the Dragon had fallen unconscious at the sight of them, and even if he _had_ seen there was no reason for him to equate a child's cries with their sudden appearance. There was no one outside of the royal family that knew the legend of the mermaid princess.

At least that's what Otohime hoped.

She was forced to push away her fears as they neared the surface, excitement taking its place. Otohime clenched the railing, her heart thrumming with anticipation as beams of light began to filter through the clear ocean waters. Unlike others on the island she had never been near the surface. She had always been too fragile—and after her engagement to Neptune too important—to risk such dangerous waters.

Presently she felt the ship's captain come beside her. The man was one of Neptune's ammo knights, steadfast in courage and accustomed to the role of leadership. He cleared his throat delicately.

"Your Highness, we will be breaching the surface soon. I was wondering of our orders once we, er, drop off our cargo."

Otohime smiled at that. "I don't know."

The man made a valiant effort to school his expression. "What?"

"I don't know." Otohime said simply. "Everything depends on what happens once we reach Mariejois. Perhaps we will be greeted with open arms. Perhaps we will be attacked by a marine admiral. Likely our welcome will lie somewhere between those two extremes, but we are in uncharted waters, Captain."

"Your Highness, your safety is my greatest priority," he said. "I understand your mission, but if we are attacked we flee. I don't care if the Dragon's disembarked or not."

Otohime shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. We must do everything in our power not to present ourselves as a hostile force. Tensions between Fishman Island and the World Government are at the highest they've ever been. We must seek peace, or more blood will be shed."

"Are things really that bad? I thought Jimbe joined the Warlords of the Sea to promote good relations."

"Whitebeard's flag still flies over our island, not that of the World Government," Otohime said. "The Celestial Dragons won't forget Fisher Tiger's actions anytime soon."

"Sod the Celestial Dragons," the captain said. "The World Government has done nothing for Fishman Island."

"An oversight I look to correct, but only if I can make my voice heard," Otohime said. She implored him, "No matter what happens to me, Saint Mysogard must make it to Mariejois alive."

He nodded, but whether it was simply to pacify her Otohime couldn't tell, and drifted away to the crew. Someone shouted for her to brace herself, and Otohime gripped the bannister with all her strength as they launched through the surface. The force burst the resin bubble with an audible _pop_ , and the sudden force nearly launched Otohime from her fins.

It took a few moments for queen and crew to regather themselves. Otohime blinked at the nearly blinding light. Shielding her eyes, she looked up at the ocean's surface.

The first thing she noticed were the giant cliffs of the Red Line. Otohime gaped, sure she looked like a child as she tried to take in the whole of its majesty all at once, but she did not care. She _felt_ a childlike wonder as she saw the surface for the first time. The sky stretched endlessly beyond the horizon, broken only by white clouds that looked like white puffs of cotton nearly close enough to touch. The sun burned high and hot, the kiss of summer melting away the cold of the sea.

And the air! Otohime never realized how _dead_ the air inside Fishman Island was until she was confronted with the briny gusts of wind that filled the sails of the boat. Otohime laughed delightedly at it all, craning her neck in an attempt to see the top of the mountain that Fisher Tiger had scaled with his bare hands. But the heights of the Red Line was shrouded in mist and cloud.

Sea, sky, and land met at the base of Mariejois, the scale of each incomprehensible. It was more than Otohime ever could have imagined, and not even Saint Mysogard stumbling out of the captain's quarters could ruin the mood.

"You call that a landing!" he screeched, his face nearly as green as his hair. The Dragon wobbled to the railing before losing his lunch to the open sea. "Get me a helmet, you stupid fish! I can't breathe this contaminated air, I'll die!" The resin bubble he had been given in lieu of a glass helmet seemed to have popped sometime along their journey.

"There are no helmets to be had," Otohime said calmly. "Although to be frank, it looks like a little fresh air would do you some good."

Saint Mysogard didn't hear over the sound of his own moaning. "Goddamn it, I hate you all. Hurry up and get to port."

Otohime smiled and bade the crew to do as he said.

* * *

A procession awaited them at the base of the Red Line, and to call their greeting unfriendly would have been the understatement of the century. The anxiety of the crew tightened like an overdrawn bowstring as they were surrounded by men-of-war that dwarfed their vessel, each manned to the teeth with marines and Government officials. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and even with a white peace flag raised the humans kept their weapons close at hand.

"Your Highness, I don't like this," the captain murmured.

"Have faith. We have done nothing wrong," Otohime said.

Strangely enough, Saint Mysogard's nerves were nearly as bad as the crew. He trembled with a very ungodlike fear, and for a moment his imperious bluster was silenced. Though she couldn't discern its cause, Otohime tucked this reaction away to ponder at a later time

They were allowed to dock. As they neared the humans Otohime could taste _their_ fear—so similar to that of the crew—and realized how this must look from their point of view. For all they knew Saint Mysogard was being held hostage. The Celestial Dragons would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of one of their own, especially with the destruction Fisher Tiger wrought still fresh in their minds.

Otohime closed her eyes and extended her senses. Two…no, _three_ Voices stood out from the rest, indomitable spirits that blazed like the sun overhead. She could almost smell the blood on their hands. Warriors then, most likely high ranking members of the marines.

The humans had come ready for war, and the only weapons she had were her words. Otohime gathered herself quietly as they docked, thinking hard of how to diffuse the situation. As soon as the gangplank touched the ground Saint Mysogard ran off the ship. One of the crew moved to stop him, but Otohime raised her hand.

"Let him go. It's a sign of good faith."

"Your Highness, he's the only protection that we have."

Otohime shook her head stubbornly. "Stay here. I will speak with the humans."

"Your Highness!"

Otohime silenced him with a shake of the head and followed the Celestial Dragon, hands tucked in the sleeves of her kimono. Low-ranking marines parted in her wake, leaving a path that led to a two barrel-chested men and a short, thin woman. Each wore a pristine suit with white officer jackets that hung from their shoulders. Otohime knew at once that these were the three powerful Voices she had identified.

The taller of the two man stepped forward, authority radiating with every step. He wore a marine hat that had, of all things, a stuffed seagull attached to the top. When there was a discerning intelligence to his eyes, nearly hidden behind thick round spectacles as he peered down at her. He was slow to speak, a sign Otohime took in her favor, and after a few uncomfortable moments Otohime took it upon herself to break the silence.

"Hello, my name is Queen Otohime, of Fishman Island," she said. "We have come to return the Celestial Dragon Saint Mysogard safely to the surface after the unfortunate destruction of his ship en route to Fishman Island. Is there some place we could talk?"

The man's eyes flickered from Otohime's diminutive figure, and then to their comparatively diminutive ship. Some of the tension eased out of his face. "Yes, of course. My name is Admiral Sengoku. Forgive your poor reception, but we've also been commanded to ensure the safe return of Saint Mysogard to the presence of his father."

A grunt came from the second man, his displeasure evident how he crossed his arms. "Waste of my time."

" _Garp_ …" the woman warned.

"Well it is! If the Dragon wants to take a ship ten thousand meters under the sea than he can live with the consequences of his reckless idiocy," the man—Garp—said. "Do what you want, Tsuru, but I'm taking my men and leaving. I've got better things to do than bully a couple of mermaids."

"Mermaid," Otohime corrected reflexively. "The men aboard the ship are all fishmen."

"Like that's any better," Garp said. He spared a glance at Otohime. "Pleasure to meet you, Highness. We appreciate you bringing the Celestial Idiot home, safe and sound. I'm sure he was real grateful that you saved his sorry ass from a quick and ignoble death."

And with a sarcastic wave of the hand he was gone. Otohime was unable to stifle a gasp while the other two rubbed their temples in unison.

Garp…the name sounded familiar. Otohime grasped for the significance, but like a lifeboat drifting away from a drowning sailor it was just out of reach. A memory stirred…

 _Damn that Garp never knowing when to quit! He would have had us if we hadn't gone underwater. Lucky he didn't have a coating on his ship…_

Of course! Monkey D Garp, the Hero of the Marines. Otohime had heard Edward Newgate grouse of his tenacity often enough it was a wonder she hadn't remembered immediately. He was one of the marine's greatest warriors, and he didn't give two wits about the Celestial Dragons and had no intention of fighting her men.

Had the admiral and his female marine not looked so stressed Otohime would have laughed.

The urge was gone as soon as it arrived. Otohime stiffened as a foul, odious presence brushed against her senses. Both Admiral Sengoku and Tsuru took a respectful step backward and bowed their heads as a ring of men in dark suits approached. A man in white sat in the center of them, seated on the back of an enormous beast. Bulbous rolls of fat gathered around his neck and chin while buck teeth cut across his bottom lip, each giving him the appearance of a particularly hideous walrus. Hazel eyes glowered behind the glass bubble that denoted him as one of the high nobility, and what little of his green hair he had left identified him as Saint Mysogard's father.

Saint Mysogard himself trailed slightly behind, riding the back of a slave and a new protective bubble on his head. His expression was one of a spoiled child who had been told no for the first time.

But the father…the father was _evil._ Otohime had never experienced anything like it before in her life, but she had no other way to describe the Celestial Dragon's dark, perverse heart. Exuding from him was a corrupting ooze that devoured everything they could touch yet was never satisfied. Otohime naturally recoiled against it, her instincts yelling for her to jump into the sea and never look back.

With a lazy flick of the wrist the elder Dragon stopped the procession. A snap of the fingers caused another man to get down on his hands and knees so he could dismount from the beast, which appeared to Otohime to be some sort of dog with hands instead of paws. The animal wheezed as the weight was lifted from his back.

"Stupid, weak slave," the noble said. "I thought zoan users were supposed to be _strong_."

The dog shuddered before transforming into the beaten, broken figure of a man, and collapsed to the ground.

 _A devil fruit user_ , Otohime realized, horror and helplessness curling in her belly.

"That's her, Daddy!" Saint Mysogard exclaimed, pointing towards Otohime. "That's the horrid creature who refused to give my slaves back!"

An unnatural hush fell over the docks. Admiral Sengoku shifted his weight nervously as Saint Mysogard's father glanced at Otohime, his eyes drinking in every feature. A terrible smile spread across his face.

"I've always wanted a mermaid in my collection," he purred. "Generally they're so hard to catch."

He said it gleefully. Needing no further cue, two of the men in black stalked forward and grabbed her by the arms. Otohime was unable to suppress a yelp of pain. Their less than gentile handling was sure to leave bruises on her fragile body.

"I can hardly believe one just _walked_ into my possession. Today is indeed my lucky day!"

Otohime glared at one of the men holding her. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second, eyes wide in fear. Then he remembered himself and he grasped her tighter than before. Otohime could feel the growing panic of the ammo knights still on the ship. She had no way to warn them not to fire...

"Although I thought mermaids were supposed to be _beautiful_."

His musings were cut off by the female marine at Admiral Sengoku's side. "Saint Gyro, this is the Queen of Fishman Island. She has ensured your son's safe passage to the surface and has _come in peace_."

"So what?" Saint Gyro said.

"I very much doubt the King of Fishman Island would be pleased to hear of his wife's…prolonged presence on Mariejois," Admiral Sengoku said.

"Historically Fishman Island's rulers have been warrior-kings, proficient in battle," Tsuru added dispassionately. "Reports suggest that the current monarch has been known to defend his possessions quite vigorously."

"Are you afraid of a few _fish?!"_ Saint Gyro sneered.

"We all know what happened the last time a fishman attacked Mariejois," Admiral Sengoku said. He bowed deferentially as all color left the Celestial Dragon's ruddy cheeks. "I will follow whatever orders you put forth, but this woman has saved your son and she comes in peace. I think it would be prudent if we at least hear what she has to say."

"You aren't here to be _prudent,_ " Saint Gyro said. "You're here to do what I say!" He turned wrathfully towards Otohime.

"Release the fish," he commanded. "My son and I are going home. I can't stand any more of this filthy air."

Saint Mysogard whimpered, his bottom lip quivering. "Daddy, aren't you going to—"

"We're going home, Mysogard," his father snapped. Shocked tears sprang from Saint Mysogard's eyes, and his expression softened. "I know this has been difficult for you. Don't you worry, Daddy will make it all better."

"Can I buy a new slave? Since the stupid fish wouldn't let me have my old ones?" Mysogard asked hopefully.

Saint Mysogard favored him with an indulgent smile. "Whatever slave you'd like."

Anger, white-hot and furious, tore through Otohime. She balled her hands into fists, concentrating on the pain of nails cutting into her palms to keep silent. Though the worst of the storm was over, Otohime was acutely aware of how tenuous the situation still was. She took deep, cleansing breaths, concentrating on the salty air (not filthy at all) and the sun on her back. She had a reason to be here. She couldn't lose her temper.

When the Celestial Dragons and their cadre of men were gone everyone visibly relaxed—even the marine admiral. He stroked his beard. "I apologize on Saint Gyro's behalf. We weren't aware that you would be escorting Saint Mysogard personally to the surface."

"You can thank me by allowing me to stay until my business with the Celestial Dragons is finished," Otohime said, her eyes never leaving the backs of the World Nobles.

"You want to stay on Mariejois… _willingly?_ " Tsuru asked.

"I must second the Vice Admiral's sentiments," Admiral Sengoku said. "The marines can't protect you indefinitely."

"I am not afraid of the Dragons," Otohime said. "For two hundred years my people have been denied a seat at the Reverie, and I intend to change that."

"But…"

Otohime cut the admiral off with a steely glare. "I am invoking Fishman Island's right as a sovereign nation under the protection of the World Government. I would appreciate your cooperation, Admiral, but I do not require it. I _will_ speak with the Celestial Dragons again."

Otohime was weaker than the average woman, but she had yet to lose a contest of wills. Vice Admiral Tsuru put a hand on the admiral's slumping shoulders. "She's right. The law is on her side."

Admiral Sengoku sighed. "Very well. Have someone prepare her a place in the Pangea Castle. I will notify the Government…and the nobility."

"Thank you," Otohime said.

"Don't," Admiral Sengoku said. Was it a trick of the light, or did he appear upset? "There's a reason why your kind have never participated in the Reverie. Underestimate the power of the Celestial Dragons at your own peril. You may have deflected their interests this time, Your Highness, but they still control the marines."

 _And by extension you_ , Otohime thought. She smiled at him. "My only intention is to bring fishmen and humans closer together. I don't intend to rock the boat."

A surprised, barking laugh erupted from Vice Admiral Tsuru. "Look around you, Your Highness. Forget rocking the boat, you've tipped it sideways and into the Red Line. I wish you the best of luck with your negotiations. You're going to need it."

With a respectful nod both she and the admiral took their leave with the promise they would send someone to escort her to the castle. While she waited, Otohime took one last, sweeping look, marveling at houses made out of wood and stone, trees that stretched towards the sun, and the sensation of the breeze on her skin. Water lapped contentedly on the docks below her and gulls circled lazily over the head of the marine battalion ready to shoot her at a moment's notice.

And yet, somehow, they were more afraid of her than she was of them. Otohime had already upset the status quo and lived to tell the tale. A small smile graced her lips.

Let the humans think what they want about her presence. They hadn't seen anything yet.


	3. Mifune

Otohime spent the time waiting for an escort staring out at the horizon. She had to clench her hands into fists to keep them from shaking as the tension left her body as quickly as it had come, leaving her emotionally exhausted instead. Her interaction with Saint Gyro left a sour taste in her mouth and her arms throbbed, as if the humans had not let them go.

Otohime could not pretend to be entirely surprised by the Celestial Dragon's behavior, but a small part of her couldn't believe the sheer audacity it took to attempt to kidnap a foreign head of state in the presence of a marine admiral. The roots of corruption within the highest echelons of society went deeper than she could have imagined. She shuddered to think the disaster that would have occured if not for the quick thinking of Admiral Sengoku and Vice Admiral Tsuru.

Otohime could hear Neptune even now: _These are the humans you want to negotiate with? You want Fishman Island to ally with the ones who would enslave us?_

The truth was Otohime didn't. Saint Gyro repulsed her, and his son was little better. But whether she liked it or not, Fishman Island's best chance was through the World Government. It was the single largest political entity on the planet, one they were already aligned with—in theory. Change at the top had a better chance of trickling down to the common people than the other way around.

But how to facilitate negotiations? How could she talk to someone who thought her as little more than an animal? There had to be some platform for her to see eye to eye with the nobility, one that didn't rest on the threat of violence if Fishman Island didn't get its way.

There had to be, and it frustrated Otohime to no end that she couldn't see it.

Otohime took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her kimono as her ammo knights ran towards her. A dozen questions bombarded her at once, each silenced with a raised hand. "Peace, all is well. Saint Mysogard has been returned to his father, and we are to stay on Mariejois for the time being."

"We saw them grab you!"

"A…misunderstanding," Otohime said. She was saved from any further explanations by a faint prickle on the edge of her consciousness. Turning, she saw a man approaching them. "Ah, there's our escort now."

He was a tall, broad shouldered man of about fifty. His features were blocky and severe, as if his face has been carved from a stone, and he carried himself like a man who was used to being invisible. Graying auburn hair was held back in a short tail, and he wore a bright red uniform that reminded Otohime of a hotel bellboy. Stopping three paces from Otohime and her men, he bowed.

"Good evening, Your Highness," the man said, his face betraying no emotion and his tone perfectly polite. "If you would please follow me, it would be my pleasure to escort you to where you will be staying for the duration of your stay."

"Of course," Otohime said.

His eyes flickered to the crew. "Separate accommodations have been provided for your retinue. To ensure the safety of Mariejois, all foreign dignitaries are limited to one servant and one personal bodyguard. Any violent or malicious intent will be dealt with swiftly and be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law under the authority of the Celestial Dragons."

"You can't be serious!" one of the crew exclaimed. "You can't expect our queen to wander around Mariejois without protection!"

"Her Highness is allowed one servant and one personal bodyguard," he repeated tonelessly. "That is the law."

Collectively the crew bristled, instinctively moving towards Otohime. She frowned slightly, turning over the idea in her mind. Each of the ammo knights Neptune selected were strong, brave, and true, but Otohime didn't think they would be of much use should the Celestial Dragons decide to act again. If only Jimbe were still in service of the crown, but, no…it was no good wishing.

Neither were any of them even remotely trained to act as a servant. In fact, apart from the Minsters of the Left and Right Otohime was used to going without. Any ladies-in-waiting she might have employed had to keep up with her busy schedule, and somewhere between teaching the island children and orchestrating deep sea rescues it was easier to go without.

"I think I will go alone," Otohime said quietly. That's what she had told Neptune, wasn't it? That she wanted to prove that anyone, even a frail woman, could go safely to the surface. Any protection the ammo knights might offer was offset by the damage their volatile emotions might cause. They were too suspicious of the humans, too on-edge and afraid.

A faint burst of interest came from the man in red. The emotion wasn't strong enough to be considered curiosity, more a faint blip on his radar as he processed an unusual piece of information. Then, sharing the Vice Admiral's disbelief, he said, "You would go to Mariejois… _alone?"_

"As long as I have the assurance that no harm will come to my people, yes," Otohime said.

"On the honor of the Celestial Dragons, you have my word," the man said, and he bowed again.

As he straightened himself, the man's eyes met Otohime's, dark brown locking with clear ocean blue. They were as flat as his voice, and it was at that moment Otohime realized they both knew that the Celestial Dragons had no honor to spare.

"Your Highness, please reconsider," the captain hissed in her ear. "This is madness. It's not safe to be separated—"

"It sounds like we're to be separated either way, whether we like it or not," Otohime replied coolly.

The captain's expression crumpled into hopelessness. He looked at Otohime, then the man in red. Finally he came to the conclusion that Otohime already reached, and with great effort that he said, "Then we will stay here."

"What?"

The captain nodded to himself, resolve blazing in his eyes. He whispered to Otohime, "King Neptune said we were to protect you and aid your purpose here. If you insist on going in alone the least I can do is prevent them from using _us_ as hostages in your negotiations." He grimaced. "Besides, _one_ of us should be near the water should things go…poorly."

"Thank you," Otohime said quietly.

"Just…promise me you'll not take any unnecessary risks."

Otohime patted him assuringly on the arm. "I'll do my best."

"Somehow that make me feel any better," he muttered

Otohime laughed, and again she noticed the man in red studying her and the crew. The blip of interest had transformed into the low hum of someone who was thoroughly perplexed by what he saw, but didn't care enough to find out why.

"It's decided. My men will stay with our ship," Otohime said.

"Very well. I'll send someone shortly to gather your belongings. If it pleases Your Highness, I will take you to the castle now."

The man in red led Otohime away from the docks of the Red Port, cutting through the heart of the city that clung to the base of the Red Line. Otohime's discerning eye could tell that the people had prospered under the shadow of the World Government. Of course no pirates could possibly pass so near Marineford, and the constant stream of merchants and royalty passing over the Red Line ensured a steady flow of income, even after paying the tribute demanded by the Celestial Dragons.

Word of Otohime's arrival spread like wildfire through the town. Once distance was put between herself and the marine presence, humans started to crowd the streets to see what all the commotion was about. As Otohime and the man in red neared the bubble-powered bandolas nestled into the cliffs of the Red Line, the crowd had grown thick enough that people were nearly falling over themselves for the opportunity to see a mermaid in person.

"Can you see her fins?"

"How does it walk?"

"Are you sure she's from Fishman Island? She looks…almost human?"

For once, Otohime sensed nothing malicious in their questions. She smiled, waving at a little girl clinging to her mother's skirts. The child screeched delightedly and hid her face, only daring to look up again when Otohime had almost passed.

Those that saw laughed, and the tension drained from the people like water from a bath. Otohime was grateful for it. Too much stress from too many people always gave her a headache, and the events of the day had already taken their toll on her endurance.

Emboldened by her reception, Otohime wandered closer to her guide. "Forgive me, sir, but I didn't catch your name before."

The man blinked in surprise. "I never gave it, Your Highness. My name is Mifune."

"I don't want to sound ungrateful. Thank you, Mr. Mifune, for your assistance thus far, and please forgive me if I cause any offence. My only knowledge of the surface comes from books."

Mifune slowed to a stop as they reached the bandolas, hands clasped behind his back as he very pointedly refused to look at her. His expression was a perfect mask of servile obedience, but something within him flared. Otohime didn't know him well enough to tell if it was anger, frustration, or some combination of both. In the distance someone called out that their bandola was ready to board, but Otohime hardly noticed. Her entire focus was on the man right in front of her.

"A word of advice, Your Highness: On the surface people like you don't talk to people like me," Mifune said, his voice barely audible.

"Because I'm a mermaid?" Otohime asked.

"No, Your Highness. Because I'm a slave."


	4. Pangea Castle

The view from the bandola was spectacular. Otohime had always wondered how the humans managed to climb up and down the Red Line, and the solution was nothing short of genius. The same bubble resin produced on the Saboady Archipelago was harvested to help the platforms raise up into the sky. The resin was reinforced with the coating technology that allowed ships to sail ten thousand meters under the sea, and used in conjunction with a sophisticated pulley system to raise and lower the bandolas. The insides were luxurious, spacious, and climate controlled; perfectly fit for the royalty that often employed them.

As Otohime and Mifune were raised to the Holy Land of Mariejois they were greeted with a grand view of the ocean below. The sun was sinking rapidly in the sky, and the horizon looked like a canvas of burnt orange and inky purple. It was so beautiful Otohime's heart ached at the sight of it. The sheer scale of the surface was beyond compression. She could hardly believe she was going to the top of the world, able to see miles in every direction, but was _still_ only witnessing a tiny portion of the world. Not even the Saboady Archipelago was visible as they disappeared into the mist and cloud, and it was near enough that the threat of a marine admiral was enough to keep the pirates there in line as they sought passage into the New World.

And yet the natural splendor was tarnished by the knowledge Mifune was a slave. After dropping the surprising revelation he had made a point to answer Otohime's questions with as few words as possible while still maintaining the minimum standard for politeness. More than once Otohime caught him glancing warily at the men working the bandola.

The last thing Otohime wanted was to put Mifune in danger, and eventually she fell silent, pensively gazing out at the open sea. The world looked so different here, as if the ocean were a single pane of unbroken glass. The simple change in perspective made the waves all-but-invisible, hiding the dangers of the sea in a sparkling vista.

There was a lesson in that somewhere, but Otohime was too tired to tease it out.

The air grew cooler as they rose, and Otohime's headache worsened. Without thinking she rubbed her forehead, trying to force the discomfort away so she could concentrate.

"The air is thinner here, Your Highness," Mifune said without turning to look at her. Was there anything he didn't notice? "Your body will adjust with time."

Just as they reached the lowest hanging clouds the bandola slowed to a stop where a stairway had been carved directly into the Red Line. Mifune led Otohime to a waiting group of armored guards and said, "A moment, please. I must notify the castle of our impending arrival."

As he stepped away to make a call on the den-den mushi Otohime stared wondrously at the path that would lead to her country's future. The red stone steps were worn from countless feet that had made the journey before her. Hidden in the walls of the Red Line were enormous statues of the founding kings, each at least one hundred meters tall.

 _These were men who made themselves giants_ , Otohime mused, craning her head trying to see their cloaked faces in the swirling mist. Rising in the distance were the crenulated walls that surrounded the city of Mariejois. _Or gods._

"This way, Your Highness," Mifune said. A troubled frown deepened the craggy lines of his face as he tucked the den-den mushi into his uniform pocket, gone just as quickly as it appeared.

Up the stairs they went, through the gates of the city and into the sprawling expanse that was Mariejois. A wide cobbled path led to yet another gate, framed on either side by a carpet of green grass and stretches of forest. A brook bubbled contentedly as it cut through the idyllic countryside, completing the picturesque beauty on the outskirts of the city.

Tentatively Otohime moved from the path onto the grass. It was as soft as a feather bed beneath her fins, yielding under her weight to cool earth. Oh, it was so wonderful! Otohime had _dreamed_ of this day for as long as she could remember, and she could scarcely believe she wasn't dreaming now.

"Your Highness?" Mifune said quizzically.

"Forgive my indulgence," Otohime said before returning to the armored knights. One handed her a balancing stick and brusquely explained the concept of the travellator. Intrigued by the notion of a sidewalk that moved itself, Otohime took the stick and stepped back on to the cobbled path.

Only for her dream to turn into a nightmare.

Otohime's stomach churned, summersaulting in her belly as wave after wave of nausea ripped through her. Something foul was rotting beneath their feet. It stank of death and misery, of pain and degradation…

"Your Highness?"

Otohime looked up at Mifune, her eyes wild. Did he know what was happening underground? Could he hear the Voices, or feel their hellish existence just below them?

Did he know they were standing on a graveyard?

"Just my head," Otohime said weakly. "Perhaps the air is affecting me more than I thought."

"All the more reason to get you settled," Mifune replied. He nodded to the knights, and by some unspoken cue the travellator lurched forward.

That only made the Voices louder, and it took every ounce of Otohime's strength not to throw up.

* * *

Otohime suffered through the short journey to the Pangea Castle. She was no longer in the mood for sightseeing and allowed herself to be taken through the Mingling Plaza and front gate with minimal distraction. The castle was built for use during the Reverie, and was scaled to match. It easily dwarfed her own Ryuugu Palace, but in a moment of nationalism Otohime decided she preferred the chaotic splendor of Fishman Island to the impeccable structure of Mariejois, which upon first glance seemed to be made entirely of straight lines and angles.

The knights stayed behind as they entered the castle proper, once again leaving Otohime alone with Mifune. The hairs on the back of Otohime's neck prickled as she felt the presence of a dozen security snails—some out in the open, and others hidden. Muscled men in dark suits and guns on their hips were strategically placed, hawkish gaze trained on servants wearing red uniforms identical to Mifune.

Red for slaves, black for free men, with the Celestial Dragons watching over both. And, of course, her. With two years until the next Reverie the Pangea Castle was largely empty, and if the thickening tension was anything to go by all the extra attention was going to her.

Mifune led her up a winding staircase with intricate wrought iron lattice work. The hallways were polished marble with plush carpets deadening the sound as they walked. Decorating the white walls were portraits of various Celestial Dragons, each framed with gold.

Up and up they went, to the highest floor of the castle. Otohime could think of no other reason other than pettiness to put her in such an inconvenient location with so many open rooms available. Finally Mifune stopped at a door made of dark, heavy wood, carved with rose thorns and the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon. He produced a key and said,

"Welcome to the Rose Suite, Your Highness. You will be staying here for the duration of your stay."

The door swung open, revealing a girl standing at rigid attention. She wore the bright red uniform of a slave and a petrified expression, and at the sight of her Mifune's ironclad composure cracked.

"Jean, what are you doing here? I asked for Ami or Francis."

The girl shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his glower. "Higher ups said I was to come up, so I came up. Was just doing what I was told."

Curious brown eyes flickered to Otohime for a moment, before finding an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Otohime wasn't the best at judging human age, but she guessed the girl to be between twelve and fourteen years old, with gangling arms and a rather plain face that had not lost the roundness of childhood. Coarse brown hair was cropped in a severe and unflattering haircut, just barely reaching the length of her jaw. A light dusting of freckles were sprinkled over the bridge of her nose, shifting as she wrinkled her nose in an unhappy expression.

" _You_ were chosen?" Mifune said incredulously.

"D'you think I'd be up here otherwise?" Jean snapped. Then remembering her manners she bowed clumsily at Otohime. "Begging your pardon, Highness. I've been asked to look after you, with it being your first time on Mariejois and all that. She gestured vaguely behind her, were three large bags were sitting. "Your stuff's already been brought up. I took the liberty of puttin' stuff away for you."

 _And searching to make sure I didn't bring anything dangerous,_ Otohime thought wryly. "Thank you, Jean. I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly."

Mifune looked helplessly between Jean and Otohime, but whoever had assigned the girl to the queen obviously had more authority than he did. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced a more neutral expression.

"Very well. I will leave you two to get settled. If there is anything you need, Your Highness, _anything at all_ , don't hesitate to let me know. Ask any of the servants, they'll know where to find me."

"A moment please," Otohime said as he turned to leave. "I must speak with the Celestial Dragons as soon as possible. Do you know how I could go about arranging a meeting?"

Mifune went very still while Jean's eyes bulged. There was an awkward silence. "I'll inform the correct channels, Your Highness," Mifune said.

"How long will that take?" Otohime asked.

"I will inform my superiors posthaste. Beyond that…I don't know. I'm sorry. I can't say anything more."

Realizing that was the best she would get for now, Otohime inclined her head. "Thank you, Mr. Mifune. I appreciate all you've done."

Perhaps he was simply getting easier for her to read, but Otohime could see how her words disarmed him. "I, er. You're Welcome, Your Highness. Good night."

Mifune quietly stepped out of the suite, shutting the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Otohime turned and looked at her surroundings.

To the Celestial Dragons credit, it was a room fit for a queen. A four poster bed with rich velvet curtains was nestled on the back wall. At the foot of the bed was a claw-foot chaise lounge sofa, perfect for reclining, while at the other side of the room was a small table and chairs where Otohime could receive visitors. A large silk tapestry blazoned with the symbol of the World Government hung proudly over a fireplace, unlit in the summer heat, and on the south wall was an enormous window that spanned nearly a third of the suite.

There was a crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, roses expertly carved into the stucco moldings, and a mahogany desk so large two people could use it at a time with plenty of room to spare. Otohime was overwhelmed and awed, but there was a part of her that held back. She couldn't fully appreciate the opulence of her lodging while the Voices of countless slaves swirled through Pangea Castle.

"Your Highness?" Jean ventured as Otohime tried to take in the events that had transpired thus far.

"Yes, Jean?"

"It's a little bit late for you to go with everyone else in the banquet hall, but I could bring you up some food if you want."

Otohime looked down at the girl. "There are other people here?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes'm. Some people have ambassadors that stay year round for politicking. Sometimes kings and queens come even when it's not the Reverie because something's happened in their country. Kinda like you, I suppose."

"Interesting," Otohime murmured before sweeping toward the walk in closet where Jean had—incorrectly—hung up the clothes she brought for the journey. The girl followed like a second shadow, prickling with anxiety as Otohime absentmindedly corrected the mistake. "To be honest, I'm not all that hungry. Perhaps in the morning I'll feel up to joining the other dignitaries. Do you know what time breakfast is, dear?"

"Uh, between eight and ten. Your Highness," she added belatedly.

"Don't worry, I don't care much for formalities. You may call me Queen Otohime if you'd like." Otohime turned toward Jean, feeling an instinctual wariness rising within her. "Although I would appreciate it if you informed the kitchens that mermaids eat a vegetarian diet."

"So it's _true_ ," Jean breathed, eyes widening. "You're from Fishman Island!"

Curiosity, it seemed, wasn't something Mariejois had beaten out of her yet. Her gaze dropped to the hem of Otohime's kimono, as if she could see her fins if she stared hard enough. "I had friends who swore they saw mermaids at the archipelago, but I never did."

"You're from Saboady?" Otohime asked.

"Grove Twenty-Two, born and bred," she said proudly. She opened her mouth to say more, but caught herself. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

Otohime rested her hands on Jean's shoulders, feeling how they tensed under the gentle touch. "Don't apologize. I'm not angry."

The breath Jean had been holding left her like a deflating balloon. Confusion replaced panic.

"Oh."

"I take it this isn't your normal job?" Otohime asked sympathetically. Jean shook her head.

"And I take it your job is to follow me around and make sure I don't cause any trouble?"

There was a heartbeat of hesitation, then a nod.

"That was a cruel thing to ask of someone unused to such tasks," Otohime said quietly. She moved to leave the closet, but before she did plucked a small den-den mushi off of the wall.

Jean followed Otohime as they returned to the main room of the suite, and then watched as Otohime made a circuit of the room and removed each of the surveillance snails—including one fiendishly hidden in the linen closet of the lavatory. Otohime set all of them, seven in total, in a neat row.

"I want these gone," Otohime said, brooking no room for compromise. "In this room, at least, I will have some semblance of the privacy afforded to other guests."

Jean swallowed hard. "Yes, Your Highness."

Softening her tone, Otohime said, "You can tell your…superiors…that I have come on a mission of peace. All I ask in return is to be treated as a person."

"Yes, Your Highness," Jean said, and at that moment she looked very young. Too young to carry the burden of living as a slave, and too young to carry out the orders she had been given. How many other royals would have tolerated being assigned an untrained slave to follow them around like a lost guppy?

"Perhaps tomorrow we could get to know one another better, but right now I am very tired," Otohime said. "I will be ready for breakfast around eight o'clock."

Jean bobbed her head, recognizing the clear dismissal. "If you need anything in the night you can ring the bell."

She gathered up the snails and melted out of the room. If nothing else Jean was quiet. As soon as she was gone Otohime slumped into bed and massaged her aching head. She stayed that way for several long moments, before gathering her energy once more to get changed for bed.

It took a more time than she would have liked to find the gown she used to sleep in. Fatigue was seeping into her bones as she shuffled into the lavatory for her nightly toilette.

Any other day Otohime would have found the sea-shell sink amusing, but today she could only be annoyed by the fact that her toothbrush as not in the appropriate holder. Nor was it behind the mirror or in her bag. After spending a fruitless and frustrating fifteen minutes searching Otohime was forced to conclude it wasn't in the Rose Suite at all.

Also missing was a small compact mirror and a set of pearl earrings. Any one of the missing items could have been explained as being left behind in the rush to pack, but together…

Otohime had neither the energy nor desire to think about why someone would have stolen her toothbrush. She finished the rest of her nightly routine and returned to the main room of the suite in time to see the sun setting over the horizon. From the top story her view over the city was unparalleled, and she smiled at the sight of the skyline awash with golden light.

Otohime focused on the setting sun rather than the finger-shaped bruises on her arms, or her near brush with captivity, or the agonized Voices hidden in the tunnels she was sure existed under Mariejois. Unwilling to miss the last vestiges of sunlight, Otohime kept the curtains parted as she slid into bed. Despite all that had happened it wasn't long before she fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

And so ended Otohime's first day on the surface, not with an enthusiastic rallying cry for the betterment of Fishman Island, but with an exhausted woman unsure of the road that lay ahead.


End file.
